I can't take it when you say you're leaving
by darkening sunset
Summary: Wincest and minor spoilers for Shadow.  Sam realises that if he isn't careful, he'll drive Dean away. Revised


_**I can't take it when you say you're leaving.**_

Disclaimer: Neither Sam, Dean nor Supernatural are in any way, shape or form mine and I make no profit from the words below.

Summary: Wincest and spoilers for Shadow. Sam realises that if he isn't careful he'll drive Dean away.

I've found him… It's taken me two hours to track him down to this hovel of a bar. It's low-class even by his standards and that's my fault. He doesn't want me to find him or at least he doesn't think he does; it's up to me to prove otherwise now. What the hell am I doing to him? He looks like he's been drinking heavily, slumped heavily on a stool by the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand, swirling it round in front of him watching the liquid. He looks like he's looking for a fight, as if he'll swing for anyone who bumps into him. It's why he's come here, the clientele is less fussy about image, more inclined to fight. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be looking for a fight… what makes it worse is that I know he's exhausted, he's hurt and hurting and if he picks a fight with the wrong person tonight, they'll work him over and he won't be up to defending himself properly. And I can't help thinking that might be just what he's looking for.

He hasn't seen me yet, he's so intent on his observation of his glass. I start to pick my way across the bar towards him. I can't forgive myself for this, for doing this to him again. I should never have…

And that's the thing… is it that I should never have started this … this relationship with him, made him my lover? Or is it that I should have treasured him more? Realised just what it was that I was doing to him? I've hurt him in more ways than you could ever believe, more ways than anyone, least of all him, could ever deserve.

He looks so tired. More than just sleepless night tired, more than I've been in a fight and I'm sore tired. It's as if his body is crying out, I'm tired of living and hurting and I just want it all to be over.

"Dean…" He doesn't even look at me, just stares through the whiskey to the bottom of the glass. "I need to talk to you about something…" He barely blinks.

He raises the glass to his lips and I put my hand over his arm pushing it away from his mouth. That gets his attention, his eyes swing round to my face and he growls out the words, "Leave me alone, Sammy." I don't, instead keeping my hand over his, I move closer, lean back against the bar so that I am facing him. "You're in the wrong kind of bar, sweetheart," he says as if he doesn't know me, "That is unless you want your ass kicking."

I spare a quick glance round to check that no one is paying us attention for he's right, this isn't the sort of bar where me touching him will be ignored, they wouldn't even need to know that we were brothers to decide that it was wrong. "Come with me, so it doesn't happen then."

"Not my problem. Just get your hands off me, you're not my type." His voice is toneless, disinterested and it tears at my heart to know it's my fault.

"Dean, please. I need to explain something to you."

"And I don't need to hear it."

"I think you do. Come on, before I do get my ass kicked because you don't look like you're up to rescuing me."

"Counting on a lot there, that it would even interest me if you were getting your ass kicked."

I lean closer and breathe on his ear, inhaling his scent, watching his eyes close, a long slow blink that shows I'm getting to him. He slams the glass down on the bar top and stands pushing himself away from the bar and the stool he was sitting on. He heads for the door and that's the first time I notice the wince in his step.

Once I've got him outside, we're still not safe but with a quick check round, I can't see anyone at the moment so I snag a kiss from his lips. He doesn't fight it but he doesn't respond and as soon as I begin to move back, he begins to walk without acknowledging my kiss. His head is down, his shoulders hunched and he doesn't look back.

I rush to his side, my hand catching his arm. "I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean it."

His eyes flick in my direction, "I know. It's fine." He continues walking and I wonder how he can say that, mean it, even try to believe it. He's heading away from the motel, so I try to turn him. "Please, Sam…" for the first time since I found him, his voice isn't toneless, it's begging me for something.

"What? What do you want me to do to make this right?"

"Let go, let me go, please." There is a hint of desperation in his voice, a hint of barely held-back tears and then the punch line… "I can't do this anymore, Sammy. Just let me go."

We're passing an alley, so I push him in, pin him against the wall and lean in for another kiss, a proper kiss, but again he's unresponsive. "Dean…" I breathe it onto his neck as I nip and tug at his ear. His eyes are pain filled, but he doesn't say anything. I push one leg between his, pressing against him but get nothing. I'm left feeling like he isn't going to fight me nor give in and enjoy this. He may as well be a mannequin from a store window. "I'm taking you back now." I whisper into his ear, as I let up the pressure.

"No, it's over. If you need to… do it here, then I'm going and you can go back. I left you the Impala keys."

"If I need to what, Dean? Rape you? Is that all you think this is about the sex?" I'm almost screeching at him. "I love you, I want you, I need you."

"No, you don't." He slides round my body away from the wall and begins to walk away.

Reaching out for his arm, I turn him back pushing him hard against the wall. His eyes close, his face scrunches in pain as his head bounces against the wall. For a moment, his eyes flash clear and I realise he isn't drunk, I can smell the smoke of the bar but his breath barely holds a hint of the whiskey he'd been drinking. "You haven't been drinking…"

"No, I haven't," he agrees.

"So…" I don't know what to say, it isn't the drink making him behave like this. This is him, the real Dean. "Dean, please… don't leave me, I need you."

"No you don't Sammy. Don't be so picky, there are plenty of easy lays out there, you don't need to look far for them. Trust me there's not many would say no to you."

"I don't want an easy lay… I want you and it isn't just for sex… You mean too much for me to let you walk away like this, I need you by my side."

He shakes his head. "No you don't. You don't need me. Try his number, tell him I've gone, he'll probably let you know where he is, you can join up with him again."

"Who? Dad? Why would he let me join up with him? Why would I want to join up with him without you there?"

"He'd let you…" his voice trails away as if there was more that he could say but it isn't worth the effort.

"… but you think he wouldn't want you… is that what this is about? You think he doesn't want you, doesn't love you? Why would you think that, Dean?"

"He left me before. He knows what he's doing, that's why you should go and join him."

"No… I know I said I wanted to be with him, to be in the fight… Dean… if you're not with me, I don't want that."

"You want to go, you told me, you said I had to let you go. I'm letting go Sammy, I'm letting you go, it's what you want so go… leave me." His voice catches on a sob even as he pushes me away and tries to turn away and start walking.

I'm not going to let him walk away like this though, not going to let him do this to himself. "I'm sorry… now you've said it, I can hear what it sounded like… it wasn't what I meant."

"Please, Sam, don't do this. I get it, don't lie now and make it harder."

"I'm not lying… when I said you're going to have to let me go, I didn't mean that, I meant you're going to have to let me stop hunting. Dean, I want the thing that killed Mom and Jess but I don't want to live like this forever… I want us to have a home, a life, I want you to be safe and not hurt anymore. I don't want to be worrying that I'm going to lose you."

"We can't have that…" his voice is barely a whisper. "What we do… it isn't right. You know that, there isn't anywhere we could go where it's allowed."

"So we lie, we don't tell anyone we are brothers."

"You want normal. This isn't…" His pain runs so deep, I can feel it.

"I want you more. Come back with me, we'll find a way. I can't let you go."

"You have to." He turns away again.

"Never." I lean in to kiss him gentle, chaste. "Baby, come back, don't do this to me." I feel it as the fight goes from his body, as his desire to be with me, to have this 'thing' overwhelms his defences and his need to escape. His knees buckle at the same time as the first tear escapes his eyes. But I have him, I'm holding him up and he doesn't fall. I slip my hand behind his neck, sifting fingers softly through his hair as I pull his head to my shoulder and place a tender kiss on the top of his head. "I've got you."

He leans almost unmoving for a moment, held up almost entirely by me, then I feel as he locks his knees and takes his full weight back, as he lifts one hand and places it on my hip. It rests there a moment, before he begins to stroke my back. I shift a fraction into him and my t-shirt slips away from my jeans so as his hand travels back again, it passes over my bare skin, he gasps at the contact and starts to pull away. "Sssh! We're okay, Baby." I've never called him that outside of our love-making, always known that if I did he'd push me away, embarrassed, that I'd lose that tenderness that we have. I've never called him it at the height of passion, it's in those intimate moments afterwards, the warm, secure time we spend cocooned together and that's why it works now, because it isn't about the sex, it's about the love and intimacy that follows. It's what tells him now that he really is more to me than a convenient body. His body turns against mine but not as if he's trying to get away. "We should move from here, before someone comes by." I whisper into his hair. He nods, still silent, still unsure but slipping the hand that had rested on my hip round my back, pulling me close beside him so we can walk. Without a word, he leads me deeper into the alley.

Emerging from the other end, he leads me up the road and within a few minutes we're within sight of the motel. "You know this town better than I do." I say quietly, tightening my grip round his shoulders again. He walks me to the door, then turns and reaches up for my face with his hand, gently strokes his fingers across my cheek, wary of putting pressure on the claw marks. He moves his hand round to the back of my head and we adjust our position, tilting to reach for another kiss. This one is warm and wet, deep and soul searching and it lingers intimately. Eventually he lets go, both of us heart-racing, breath short. His eyes close as if he's hiding something, only reopening slowly to look at me, he's biting his lower lip and I can see the pain still deep in his eyes. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry I hurt you… I love you."

His hand brushes my cheek again and he says softly, "I'll always love you too, Sammy."

I turn to open the door and as I do so, he turns to walk away. I only just catch his arm in time. I drag him into the room, locking and bolting and chaining the door behind me. I move him to sit on the edge of the bed and then pile everything I can think of in front of the door so he can't just walk away and when I turn back he looks like a child, lost in a storm. I walk over to him and take his jacket off, his shirt, dropping them on the other bed. Kneeling in front of him I remove his boots, his socks and he sits watching me without resisting, without moving. "Stand up Dean." He does as he's told and I undo his jeans and push them down for him to step out of. He's standing in his boxers and a t-shirt. I draw back the covers on the bed and push him down gently to sit and then lie in the space, covering him over carefully. I strip my own clothes down to my boxers before climbing into bed behind him. I draw him into my arms and we lie together unmoving, just soft breathing. He fits… like no other person has ever fit. It's comfortable to sleep round him, something I never did with Jessica. I loved her but once our lovemaking was over, we always rolled apart and slept alongside each other, almost always back to back. It's not like that with Dean, we almost always sleep entwined, tangled somehow, legs or arms or like this me round him or my head on his chest, an arm cast over him to hold him close, like we can't bear to be apart.

I kiss his hair gently and he shivers. "Are you cold?" I ask.

"It's okay," he answers.

"I don't want to lose you. I never meant that I wanted to leave you for good. You are mine."

"I'm always yours Sam, but…"

"Always mine, so don't fight it." I feel him shift against me and hold him still. "No, Baby not tonight. Not tonight… I want to show you this is more than that, you're more important than that. I don't just want you for sex, so tonight… no. Tonight, you're going to let me hold you while you sleep, let me protect you. You mean more to me than an easy lay, it's never ever been about that. I'm wrong if I've ever let you think it was."

He lies stiff and uncomfortable in my arms as if he's waiting for me to change my mind; I stroke his arm in reassurance. It takes a long time for him to relax and accept that I mean what I say, even longer for him to fall asleep and for me to be able to give myself over to sleep around him.

I wake in the morning with him trying to ease his way out of my grip. I tighten my hold, "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom, I need to pee Sam, please…"

"Uh… Sorry," I let him go flopping over on to my back to let him go. He stands stiffly and moves to the bathroom. I watch him go through my half closed eyes. As the door closes, my hand shifts under the covers to my half-hard cock, wishing it away, pressing down on it hoping it gives up hope of getting any this morning, silently promising it I'll sort it out in the shower, but for now, it's got to wait and somewhere a whole lot more discreet, because if I curl back round Dean when he comes back to bed, there's no way he isn't going to know it's there.

He sits back down on the side of the bed a few minutes later. "You want me to take care of that for you?" he asks with a sidelong glance down the bed.

"No." I hear myself almost growl the word out. "It's going to go away."

He smiles, soft and tender, affectionate. "Not on its own it isn't. It's staying there to make your life a misery until one of us takes care of it."

"Well, I'll just have to manage then won't I? I told you last night, you and me we're more important than just the sex. I don't expect you just to…"

His fingers come to rest over my lips stopping my words. "I know, you showed me." He leans over to kiss me gently on the lips and lifts away. "See, I get it." Then he drops his head again, kissing me again, longer, deeper, tongue delving into my mouth searching for something. I gasp as he lifts his head again. "But we get this too," he continues, leaning back in to resume kissing again, this time tangling his tongue with mine.

His hand gently strokes a path down from my ear to my chin, down my neck to my chest where it comes to rest over my nipple, his fingers slowly circling as it hardens at his touch. His mouth leaves mine, slowly nipping and kissing, licking and caressing his way to my neck as his hand moves from one nipple to the other. "Dean!" He pauses and looks up at me, lifting himself away from me, my whole body aches for him to come back and continue what he was doing, even as my mouth says, "You don't have to do this."

He nods, then lowers himself back to continue. A gasp of relief escapes my lips and I feel him smile against my neck. He moves up to my ear and nibbles lightly on the lobe before whispering, "I really didn't think you wanted me to stop."

"No." I drop my hand back towards my cock, no longer half hard, it's demanding relief.

His hand knocks mine away, "Leave it, I'm getting there, just give me a minute." I hear a whine escape from my lips and he relents, resting his hand over the mound still restrained by my boxers. I thrust upwards, unable to stop the urge. "Impatient much?" he says as he slides his hand between my skin and my boxers finally coming to rest around my cock. He takes his time, prolonging the torture, building the pleasure.

Finally, he takes me over the edge, before climbing off the bed. He returns from the bathroom with a cloth a few minutes later, cleans off my belly whilst I lie satiated. He stands and I see his eyes watching me, as if he's memorising this picture of me, soaking up all the details and I realise he's still intending leaving. It stirs me to move. Pushing myself up to sitting, I reach for his hand and pull him down beside me. He's still pliant and unresisting and I know he's been acting trying to catch me off guard, make me think he's okay when he's no more okay than he was last night, he's still trying to do what he thinks I want, I need. I lean in and kiss him gently, pulling him back in to my side, I hold him carefully, trying to pour all my love into the embrace, trying to will him to believe in it as much as I do. I want him to understand how much he means to me.

Part of me feels guilty that I am making no move to reciprocate, whilst the other part, the greater part, feels that I have to impress upon him how he is more important to me than just sex. I hold him and eventually, as he did last night, he relaxes and then falls asleep. I lie there while he sleeps in my arms, pondering what we should do next. We need a few days down time, I can use the injuries from the daevas as an excuse, we're both bruised, him worse than me, but it's my bruising that will make the difference in how soon we find the next hunt. He will protect me for longer than he will take time to allow his own body to heal. The best I can hope for is to play up my injuries and demand a rest and recuperation time. In the time, we need to do things, non-hunting things, I need to find ways to show him what I see in our relationship.

Over the next few days, I find that I cannot let him out of my sight as he makes several attempts to just walk away when I am not looking. Like a child distracted by a toy in a shop, I find myself looking at people, menus, items in grocery stores and then turning back and not being able to find him. I fail to reassure him that we should be together, that he shouldn't leave me. Eventually, I sit him down in yet another motel room and sit down to face him, our knees scant inches apart. I look in his eyes and tell him, I can't carry on with the worry that every time I turn around he's going to have vanished, I can't face the thought of needing to find him and Dad, or even more importantly of not knowing he's safe. I tell him the constant worry of turning around to find him gone is stopping me sleeping, stopping me functioning. "Sorry," he whispers.

"Stay with me, I give you my heart, just stay with me."

His eyes drop to the floor and he says, "You've already got mine."


End file.
